


Hypersomnia

by Hexmage



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Other, Viktor Is Horribly Depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:18:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexmage/pseuds/Hexmage
Summary: Just how deep was the depression Viktor went through?





	Hypersomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Ikleyvey for inspiring this - we were talking about Viktor's past and I really love what she's thought up.

Viktor wakes up from a dream. A metal hand stretched out to save him from falling, knocked aside by faceless-nameless individuals… he’d continued to fall into the dark. Already, the details were fading. It was for the best. It was less of a dream and more of a nightmare, and the last shred of humor he’d been holding onto tells him that he’s already in a waking one.

It has been three months and four days (or maybe two months and twenty-nine days, or perhaps…) since the verdict. He rolls over in the tangled blankets and tries to return to sleep. In dreams, at least, he forgets the ruling. He’s often back at the College, eyes bright as he scuttles between classes with one too many books in his arms. Or with friends. Friends are, too, something he’s lost. Funny how things change once the public’s opinion is swayed.

Sleep isn’t coming. The wall clock says it’s nearly seven at night. Has he eaten today? What day is it? Blankets are cast aside as Viktor practically drags himself out of his room. Downstairs.

There’s bread in the kitchen and he briefly considers eating it as-is. If he did he could go back to bed faster and tomorrow would come faster. Not that tomorrow holds anything special. It’s just _not today_.

He decides to toast the bread.

* * *

The toaster popping up nearly makes Viktor drop his glass of water. He’d done that. Right. There’s butter in the fridge and a clean-enough knife to spread it with. Dishes need to be washed too - yesterday he had enough energy to make soup but not enough to clean. He can do that today. If he’s feeling up to it, maybe he’ll even shower… it’s been a while.

The toast is fine. He moves to the sink and methodically finishes the dishes that have been soaking for the past twenty-four hours. The greasy residue of yesterday’s meal reminds him, yet again, that a shower is necessary unless he wants to be the human version of _that_. Viktor puts everything in its proper place and returns upstairs. There’s a clean set of pajamas in his dresser. The towels in the bathroom are clean enough. He steps into the shower several minutes later, turns the temperature up as high as it’ll go, and sits on the floor. Standing is too much effort. It’ll take him some time to actually shower - right now there is something about the steady drone of somewhat sulfuric water. If he had better water heating and Zaun had cheaper utility bills, Viktor is sure that he could sit and let the water wash over him until the sun came up. As is, though, the water starts to chill forty minutes in. He drags himself to his feet. Shampoo. Soap. Rinse. The water is cold against his skin now.

Stepping out a minute later doesn’t feel any better. Viktor wraps himself in the threadbare towel after attempting to dry his hair. He changes into pajamas, hangs the towel back up, and flicks off the fan switch. Most of the steam went when the hot water ran out, but the mirror is fogged enough that he can’t see more of himself than a flesh-and-navy colored blob. It hasn’t done him any good to look at himself, so he’s thankful for the obfuscation. He makes the short trip back to his room and climbs into bed with a sense of finality.

Today had been productive. Perhaps tomorrow would be as well.


End file.
